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Join Deborah Hawkins, author of the historical/contemporary romance novel, Dance for a Dead Princess, as she tours the blogosphere July 1 - September 27, 2013 on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book! This tour is part of a huge Kindle Fire HD Giveaway. If interested in signing up for a review, interview, guest post, or book spotlight, please let us know by contacting Tracee at tgleichner (at) gmail.com or leave a comment below along with your contact information.
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About Dance for a Dead PrincessWall Street Attorney Taylor Collins, has something Nicholas Carey, the 18th Duke of Burnham, has been searching for since the death of the Princess of Wales: the videotape Diana made in January 1997 before her death in August, naming her assassins.
Determined to avenge Diana’s death by exposing her killers, Nicholas lures Taylor to England with his promise to sell his ancestral home, Burnham Abbey, to one of her clients, a boarding school for American girls. But Nicholas, who has dated American actresses since the death of his beloved wife, ten years earlier and who has vowed never to fall in love again, is immediately overwhelmed with feelings for Taylor at their first meeting.
Taylor, unaware that Diana’s tape is in the estate of Mari, her long-time friend and client, and nursing her hurt over her broken engagement to a fellow attorney in her firm, brands Nicholas supremely spoiled and selfish and is in a hurry to finish the sale of the Abbey and return to New York. But while working in the Abbey’s library, Taylor uncovers the Tudor-era love story of Thomas, the first duke and founder of the Carey family. As she reads Thomas’s agonizing struggle to save the love of his life and the mother of his child, she begins to see Nicholas in a new light as he battles to save his sixteen-year-old ward Lucy, who is desperately unhappy and addicted to cocaine. But just as Taylor’s own feelings for Nicholas become clear and at the moment she realizes she is in possession of Diana’s voice from the grave, she is confronted with evidence Nicholas may be responsible for a double murder. When Nicholas is arrested and taken to Wandsworth Prison, Taylor sets out to learn the truth once and for all about Nicholas Carey and the death of the Princess of Wales.
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PROLOGUE
Mid-April 2010, Paris
In the gray spring rain, he stood in the Place d’Alma staring down at the tunnel where she had vanished from his life on the last night of August 1997. He came here whenever he was in Paris. He counted the pillars until he reached number thirteen, the one that had taken her life. Tears formed behind his eyes, as they always did in this place. But he refused to let them overflow. Instead, he took a long breath of fresh rain mixed with the exhaust of cars speeding through the tunnel.
In the gray spring rain, he stood in the Place d’Alma staring down at the tunnel where she had vanished from his life on the last night of August 1997. He came here whenever he was in Paris. He counted the pillars until he reached number thirteen, the one that had taken her life. Tears formed behind his eyes, as they always did in this place. But he refused to let them overflow. Instead, he took a long breath of fresh rain mixed with the exhaust of cars speeding through the tunnel.
When the
big black Mercedes entered its skid that horrible night, his last living link
to Deborah had been taken from him. Diana and Deborah, West Heath girls,
friends forever. Deborah had been dead since 1994, but he had lost her long
before she became his wife, three years after he met her at Diana’s wedding to
the Prince of Wales in 1981. How many nights had he spent talking to Diana
about his marriage, about her marriage, about his guilt over Deborah, and about
the impossibility of being in love? Too many to count. He ached to tell her now
how empty his life had become without either of them.
He stared
down the long, gray tunnel, wondering as always what she had felt as she had
slipped away from everyone who loved her. Had she struggled against it, as
Deborah had? Or had her torn and broken heart quietly accepted its fate? No, he
doubted that. She’d have fought to stay with her boys. Diana hadn’t gone into
death quietly. That January, she’d had a warning of what was coming. She’d recorded
a video tape naming her assassins and had given it to someone in America for
safekeeping. But she would never tell him who it was. Too dangerous, she always
insisted. If you had it, they’d come after you, too. Leave it alone, Nicholas. The
tape is safer out of England.
His phone
abruptly interrupted with a text message from his assistant. He was late for a
meeting of the Burnham Trust at the Trust’s Paris headquarters, and everyone was
waiting. Well, they could wait. All day and all night if he wanted. He was the
Eighteenth Duke of Burnham and the second richest man in England after the Duke
of Westminster, and he’d be late if he decided to be. He hadn’t wanted to be a
duke but having been forced into the job, he was going to enjoy every possible
perk.
As soon
as the news of Diana’s death reached him, he’d vowed to find her tape and make
it public. No luck for the last thirteen years, but his latest operative had
just come up with a stellar lead at last. It was so stellar that not only was
he pretty sure he was going to find the tape, he was also going to have the
opportunity to unload the decaying family seat in Kent and exact his
well-deserved revenge upon his father, the Seventeenth Duke.
CHAPTER
ONE
Mid-November
2010, New York
Conference
rooms are all the same. As are airports. On a cold, wet, mid-November
afternoon, His Grace, the Eighteenth Duke of Burnham, decided that those who
thought running the Burnham Trust was a glamorous job should go from London to
Paris to Brussels to New York seeing only conference rooms and airports. He was
now trapped in one of the beastly things on the twenty-eighth floor of the
Manhattan offices of Craig, Lewis, and Weller, studying the deepening early
twilight through the sheets of glass that formed the walls. His mood was as
black as the coming night. This was the last leg of his autumn trip to
ascertain the status of Trust assets in several countries. And two weeks of
nonstop polished mahogany tables, crystal water decanters, dense financial
statements delivered by earnest twenty-somethings, and masses of sandwiches on
large silver trays had been a mind-numbing combination. He longed to go back to
his suite at the Plaza, draw a hot bath, and order a bottle of Balvenie Cask
191.
But a
quiet evening in was highly unlikely with Ami Hendria in town. Twenty-eight-year-old
blonde bombshell actresses were not fans of a low key evening by the fire. Still,
he would be the first to admit one reason he kept Ami around was to avoid
having the world find out who Nicholas Carey truly was: a middle-aged homebody,
longing for some solitude and a nightcap. On the other hand, the female segment
of the populace would have refused to believe his real persona if he had posted
it on a billboard in Times Square because, as a widowed duke, every woman he
encountered believed he was swinging Prince Charming. And he was anything but
that.
Oh, he
was bored if his mind wandered to scotch and the possibility of eluding Ami’s
grasp that evening. To bring himself back to the present, he looked down the
nine-foot glossy mahogany conference table and counted the populace. Three
lawyers from Beville, Platt, and Fisher on one side, all local counsel for the
Burnham Trust. And two on the other from Craig, Lewis, and Weller for Miss
Reilly’s Female Finishing Academy. Why did it take five lawyers to sell a house
to a girls’ school? And why weren’t any of them the one he wanted to see? His
operative had named Taylor Collins, a partner in the Craig, Lewis real estate
section, as was the one likely to know where Diana’s tape was. He’d told Hollis
Craig he wouldn’t sell the Abbey to his daughter’s school unless Taylor was on
the deal. Yet he’d been trapped in this conference room for more than an hour
with no sign of her.
The tape
was so sensitive, Nicholas knew he couldn’t approach Taylor Collins directly
about it. But he was more than happy to offer Burnham Abbey, the ancestral home
of the Careys, on the sacrificial altar of subterfuge. The place had long been
an albatross around his neck that he was determined to remove. He smiled
happily at his picture of his father, the Seventeenth Duke, turning in his
grave in the Abbey’s chapel as the lawyers blathered on blissfully and
incomprehensibly about the terms of the deal.
For as
many of his forty-nine years as he could remember, he had detested lawyers of
every ilk. The American big firm types were particularly irksome because they
all looked, sounded, and dressed exactly alike. Dark suits, starched white
shirts with monograms on the cuff, and subdued silk ties. And the women
lawyers. Oh, he didn’t even want to think about their sexless, baggy black
outfits. Was being neutered worth all that money they reportedly made? He knew
Taylor was thirty-nine, but he bet she looked at least forty-five and was
twenty pounds overweight. And probably chain smoked and had a face like a
bulldog. He didn’t look forward to dealing with her.
Well, here
was his chance to find out. The massive, dark mahogany door to the conference
room opened, and another female suit stepped inside. Except this one was so, so
different from the others. And not at all the woman he had expected to see.
“Sorry to
be late. I had a call from the Cuniff trustee that I had to take.” She was
speaking to Hollis Craig, but a pair of eyes the color of spring violets were
fixed on him. Very like Diana’s eyes, but deeper.
“My
partner, Taylor Collins, Your Grace. She’s going to be in charge of the file
for Miss Reilly’s as we agreed.”
His heart
was racing so fast, he had difficulty speaking; so he merely nodded in
response. At thirty-nine, she looked ten years younger. She was barely five one
and probably weighed all of a hundred pounds. She was wearing an obviously
expensive, form-hugging black wool suit. Her jacket allowed the demure ruffle
of her blouse to spill over its dark edge, highlighting the single strand of
perfect pearls circling her creamy throat. Her dark hair was pulled back into
the usual professional woman’s knot, revealing more perfect pearl drops in her
exquisite little ears. He wondered what she looked like when her hair was wild
and free. Her face was impassively professional, yet he sensed much more lay
beneath the surface. Physically he was drawn to her so strongly he wondered
what color La Perlas she was wearing, but he longed for more than sex. He desperately
craved the impossible: time alone and the chance to know who she was beneath
the lawyer facade.
The
conference room doors opened once more and another black-suited woman with hair
also tightly wound roused Nicholas from his fantasies. She wasn’t as
expensively dressed, and he recognized her immediately as the telephone
receptionist who sat at the throne-like desk opposite the elevators. Her task
was to greet everyone who arrived at the twenty-eighth floor.
“Your
Grace?”
Why did
all professional women have to slick their hair into those ridiculous knots? Did
it make them seem more serious? More competent?
"Your
Grace, " she repeated. She was young, early twenties. Her eyes said, maybe
I will be his Cinderella. Even a woman in a business suit longs to be a
princess. Or at least a duchess. Although he doubted Taylor Collins would be
interested.
"Yes,
Miss–?"
"La
Breaux. Marie La Breaux."
"Well,
yes, Miss La Breaux. What is it?"
"A
call for you."
"I'll
take it later. After we’ve wrapped up in here."
"I'm
afraid it's the headmistress from your ward's school."
"Oh,
very well." Nicholas got up and went into the adjoining conference room,
this one dominated by a long glass table, sterile enough for surgery, surrounded
by empty high-backed chairs. It looked like a board meeting of ghosts, and for
a moment Nicholas saw the empty room as a metaphor for his life. The people he
had loved the most were all ghosts: his mother, Deborah, Diana, Annabel.
"Hello?"
"Helen
Myrtin, Your Grace, from Miss Whitcomb's School." Her thin, nasal vowels
sliced through the silence and reminded Nicholas that in person she appeared as
intimidating as she sounded. Thirty-five. Always dressed in suits so crisp they
looked like military uniforms. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of
difficulty with Lucy. Again."
Nicholas
had hoped she wouldn't refer to the past, but in fairness, she had a right to
sound exasperated. It had taken a hefty chunk of Trust cash, tastefully donated
to the school's general fund, to keep Lucy there the last time. "Tell me
about the problem, Mrs. Myrtin."
A very
human sigh surprised him. "I'm so sorry, Your Grace. I hate giving bad
news."
"If
she's drinking again–"
"I
wish that were the only problem. Unfortunately, Lucy has begun to experiment
with drugs. She had too much to drink, threw up in the loo, and passed out. One
of the other girls found her and called Matron who called Dr. Briggs. When he
looked her over he found signs of cocaine use. And later we located some among
her things."
Nicholas
gripped the phone and willed her to stop speaking. The alcohol had started last
year. It had been tough to deal with a fifteen-year-old who had a taste for
scotch. Maybe he should have seen the other coming. But he had put his head in
the sand. "Are you very sure she was actually using the stuff–not just
trying to sell it?" Both were bad, but using was worse. It would be much
harder to stop that.
"Perfectly
sure." The headmistress' voice tightened in response to his denial.
Give me
any window, any hole, to escape this he prayed. Don't make me deal with another
failure where Lucy is concerned. I know it's my fault. But it hurts too much. Far
too much. Still, fate had already done its work. There was no going back.
"Dr.
Briggs says the drug caused bleeding around her nose. The girl who found her in
the loo thought she was dying."
"I
see. And where is Lucy now?"
"In
the infirmary. We have to send her down. At least until the New Year. You
realize that, of course."
"Of
course." But she wasn't saying out for good. There was still hope. "But
after
Christmas?"
"You'll
have to show us she was treated. And that she's–uh, how do they say–clean. Perhaps
one of those drug management programs in Harley Street. Although I will warn you
the source is her boyfriend. He'll find her if she's in London. He's very
persistent."
"Boyfriend?"
"Well,
man-friend, actually. Didn't you know about David Lowenby? She said you
approved."
"David
Lowenby is Lord Gaynor's heir and twenty-five years old. He's almost ten years
older than Lucy. She couldn't have been seeing him."
"I'm
afraid she has. She told us she had your permission," Mrs. Myrtin
repeated.
"And
you believed that?" Nicholas didn't even attempt to control his outrage.
"Well,"
her tone of detached poise seemed to slip momentarily, "I did think of
ringing you up. But she was so emphatic. Good family. All that."
He
sighed. "Well, the harm's done. But if I put her in Harley Street, Lowenby
will find her with more cocaine. You are right. I'll have to think about what
to do."
"There
are home programs, I think. Nurses you can hire. Maybe one of the Harley Street
clinics can give you some information. But we do have to send her away today. And
you appear to be out of the country."
"New
York is not the ends of the earth, Mrs. Myrtin. I can telephone my staff. I'll
send an estate car for her as soon as you ring off. I would imagine my driver
can be there within the hour."
"That
would be greatly appreciated, Your Grace."
After
Nicholas hung up, he sat for a long minute watching the New York skyline. He felt
empty and sad and defeated. She had promised no more drinking. She would study
to get into Oxford. She would find some meaning and purpose for her life. Not
just parties and shopping. But all her promises had meant nothing. He glanced
at his watch: four thirty here, so nine thirty in London. He could have Lucy at
Burnham Square before midnight.
He picked
up the phone once more, this time punching the intercom button.
"Marie
La Breaux, here, Your Grace." She sounded so eager. For what, he wondered.
"Please
get my butler on the phone and tell him to send a car to fetch my ward from
school. At once."
"Yes,
Your Grace. I'm sorry the news was bad."
But he
wasn't inclined to tell her anything, so he ignored her condolences. First rule
of survival in the tabloid fishbowl of aristocratic life: never give anyone
information about yourself. "And get my London solicitor, Lord Thomas, on
the line. My personal assistant will give you the numbers."
"Yes,
Your Grace." She sounded more distant now. She understood he was not going
to let his guard down with her.
As he sat
waiting for Kerry's call, he wondered if he should fly back to London that
night or follow his original plan to return in the morning. His pilot was used
to turning around on a dime if Nicholas demanded it, but sticking to his
original itinerary looked very attractive. He didn't feel ready to face Lucy
and her problems any sooner than tomorrow night. If then. He could stay at the
Ritz for a couple of days and avoid his townhouse at Burnham Square for at
least forty-eight hours. Cowardly, but tempting.
Then,
too, it was Ami’s last night in New York before she flew to Paris to begin a
new movie. She expected him to take her to dinner at Per Se, with dancing
afterwards at Provacateur. The thought of all that throbbing music punctuated
by green strobes gave him a headache in advance. In addition to being very
egocentric, American twenty-something actresses loved night life. And were
completely convinced dukes did, too, despite his sincere explanations to the
contrary.
Well,
even if blonde American actresses had dukes pegged correctly, and they all
liked to boogie until dawn, he didn't. Maybe it was because he had never felt
much like a duke to begin with. Maybe it was because he hadn't been intended to
be one, either. Arthur had been real duke material. He could picture his older
half-brother at Provacateur until the wee hours. He didn't deserve a lifetime
subbing for Arthur.
Hours
under strobe lights, sandwiched between gyrating, sweating bodies was just the
sort of thing Deborah would have loved and would have insisted he do with her. But
even the most boring activities had been worth it–to be close to her. All at
once, he could see another pair of blue eyes. Not deep violet like Taylor’s,
but pale as spring rain, cool, and appraising. Deborah's eyes. Deborah's voice.
"I can't live locked away in that decaying old house in Kent. Don't be
ridiculous. There's everything to do in London and nothing at the Abbey except
watching it crumble to bits stone by stone. You can't seriously be thinking of
living there." He could hear her voice as clearly as if more than a decade
had not gone by since the last time she had spoken. And he could picture her
graceful body and the way she shook her golden, shoulder-length hair to make a
point.
The
memory was too sharp and too clear, and it hurt too much. He brought himself
back to the dilemma of Lucy. He would leave New York in the morning as planned.
But he’d lie to Ami and cancel the evening. She’d be furious, but she’d get
over it. And if she didn’t, there were a zillion more just like her waiting to
attach themselves to him. He badly wanted his evening alone at the Plaza
with his bottle of scotch. No, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted to
take Taylor Collins to dinner at Per Se, drown in her violet eyes, and learn
everything about her, including which places on her tiny exquisite body she
liked to be touched. But that was out of the question. He hadn’t expected her
to be beautiful and sexy, but he had to force himself to stay on track. He had
made a promise to Deborah and to Diana. He couldn’t be so distracted he gave up
his quest for the truth.
He would
telephone Steve Riddely now and arrange for him to come round early in the
morning to look at Lucy and advise him about treatment programs when he
returned. Steve's father had been his own father's doctor, and he knew he could
trust him not to tell anyone why Lucy had been sent down.
As for
himself, he was a coward. Tomorrow or even the next day would be time enough to
deal with Lucy.
* * *
The next
morning, his Lear Jet was scheduled to depart at eight thirty. As he sat on the
tarmac, waiting in the queue of airplanes for clearance to taxi and takeoff,
Nicholas Carey reflected upon his success the prior evening. Ami had been
easily put off with a promise to fly her to London the following week. Apparently
she was willing to risk the ire of her director to be with him. Not a good
development. But the bottle of Balvenie Cask 191 had been superb. He had almost
obliterated the shock of meeting Taylor Collins with its joys.
But he
was sober now, and she was very much on his mind. He had to find a way to see
her again, not only to find Diana’s tape, but to learn more about her. How to
do it without being obvious? Ah, the sale of the house. She was the lead lawyer
on the file for the buyer. This would be easy. Way too easy. He picked up his
cell and dialed his personal assistant.
“Myles?”
“Your
Grace.”
“I want
you to call Suzanne Kelly, the woman at Miss Reilly’s who is overseeing their
purchase of the Abbey. Tell her there may be a problem with conveying a clear
title to the school; and their attorney, Taylor Collins, must come to England
and personally examine the documents to determine whether the Trust can
actually sell the house.”
“Will do,
Your Grace.”
“And
another thing. The land conveyance records are at the Abbey library in the
family papers section. Keep them in the library but hide them where they’ll be
very difficult to find.”
“Yes,
Your Grace. Anything else?”
“Only
one. Book a suite for me at the Ritz for the next three days. I need some time
and space away from Lucy while I think about what to do with her.”
“Done,
Your Grace.”
The jet
gathered speed for take off. Nicholas watched New York begin to drop away. If
Taylor knew about Diana’s tape, her life was in danger.
My Thoughts
I must admit... I'm intrigued. Not just by the idea of Nicholas' attraction to Taylor, but how the author will handle what happened to Princess Diana. If Taylor's life is in danger, the information on this tape must be quite scandalous. In just a short snippet, I can already tell that Nicholas is a man who honors his commitments. Now I need to know more about Taylor.
Plus, Lucy's character sounds interesting. I'm left wondering why she's so damaged at 15. Guess I'll have to pick up a copy to answer all my questions.
About Deborah Hawkins
Deborah grew up in the South, wrote her first novel at the of age thirteen, and has been writing ever since. In graduate school, she studied Irish Literature and came to believe all Irishmen and Southerners are born storytellers. In addition to writing, she loves music and plays the clarinet. Now that her children are grown, she devotes her time to law, music, writing, and her two Golden Retrievers, Melody and Rhythm.
Visit her blog at: http://dhawkinsdotnet.wordpress.com/
WATCH THE VIDEO!
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Pump Up Your Book and Deborah Hawkins are teaming up to give you a chance to win a new Kindle Fire HD!
Here's how it works:Each person will enter this giveaway by liking, following, subscribing and tweeting about this giveaway through the Rafflecopter form placed on blogs throughout the tour. If your blog isn't set up to accept the form, we offer another way for you to participate by having people comment on your blog then directing them to where they can fill out the form to gain more entries. This promotion will run from July 1 - September 27. The winner will be chosen randomly by Rafflecopter, contacted by email and announced on September 28, 2013. Each blogger who participates in the Dance for a Dead Princess virtual book tour is eligible to enter and win. Visit each blog stop below to gain more entries as the Rafflecopter widget will be placed on each blog for the duration of the tour. If you would like to participate, email Tracee at tgleichner(at)gmail.com. What a great way to not only win this fabulous prize, but to gain followers and comments too! Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
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Dance for a Dead Princess Virtual Book Publicity Tour Schedule
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Monday, July 1 - Book reviewed at Book Lover Stop
Tuesday, July 2 - Book featured at Cindy's Love of Books
Wednesday, July 3 - Book featured at Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews
Thursday, July 4 - Interviewed at Read 2 Review
Friday, July 5 - First chapter reveal and review at Mom in Love with Fiction
Monday, July 8 - Up Close and Personal at Between the Covers
Tuesday, July 9 - Guest blogging at The Story Behind the Book
Wednesday, July 10 - Interviewed at Review From Here
Friday, July 12 - Book trailer reveal at Pump Up Your Book
Tuesday, July 16 - Guest blogging at The Writer's Life
Thursday, July 18 - Interviewed at Literal Exposure
Friday, July 19 - 5 Things post at Literarily Speaking
Tuesday, July 23 - Book reviewed at Miki's Hope
Wednesday, July 24 - Interviewed at Beyond the Books
Thursday, July 25 - Interviewed at Broowaha
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Thanks to Pump Up Your Book for including me on this blog tour.
Note: A positive review was not guaranteed or requested; the views expressed are my own. No financial compensation was received.
